Dismantle Repair
by FiveForFighting09
Summary: Hands, like secrets, are the hardest thing to keep from you, lines and phrases, like knives, your words can cut me through... Sam asks him, but he won't tell. He doesn't want Sam to know. But Dean knows. Because he remembers.


**A/N: Hello. Yes, I am alive, for all of you who saw this story and read my One Tree Hill Stories, I am sooooooo sorry it has been so long. I've been struggling with _life._ That, and an extreme case of writer's block.**

**Anyway, this was something I wrote in hopes of destroying the ever present writers block. *crosses fingers* It was a thought a just couldn't put down and at the moment, any writing is better than none at all. Also, I wrote this before seeing "Hevean and Hell" and after I saw it, I wanted to jump through the screen and give Dean a hug, cause he needed one, poor guy. **

**And yes, I don't own Dean (darn it) or any other characters I used. They belong to Kripke and the CW. Song is Anberlin's, once agian, not mine.**

**And this was unbeta-ed so all mistakes are my own.**

* * *

_Images scar my mind  
For weeks have felt like years  
Since your full attention was all mine_

Dean sees the way Sam looks at it, when Dean walks out of the shower or right before bed, when he takes off his shirt.

He's shrugged it off, ignoring it or avoiding it, asking Sam if "You think I'm losing my girl-ish figure" or "To take a picture, it'll last longer."

Sam won't say anything, simply shake his head, his eyebrows down, wrinkles appearing on his forehead, more than there should be at Sam's age.

But Dean knows what Sam's really thinking. And he wishes Sam would just leave it alone for once in his life.

* * *

_I am the patron saint of lost causes  
A fraction of who I once believed  
_  
Dean doesn't go shirtless as often as he use to. Not to say he's squeamish about it or that his, in his opinion, perfectly chiseled abs have disappeared, he just decides to wear his shirt more often than not.

Bobby called him on it once, a few weeks after he'd been brought up top. It was hot outside, and Dean was underneath the Impala.

Bobby had called him out from underneath his baby, wanting to know if he would like some lunch.

Dean had said yes, that he would be done soon, only his answer had been interrupted numerous times by Dean using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his arms and face.

"Just take yer shirt off already," Bobby suggested, "It's hot enough, and by the time yer done with the tune up, yer shirt will be soaked through."

Dean had laughed, and told him to head in without him- that he'd be there in a sec.

Bobby gave Dean a knowing look before heading back inside with Sam.

_Change, only a matter of time  
Opinions I would try and rewrite_

Dean had yet to take his shirt off in front of the man.

* * *

_If life had background music playing your song  
I've got to be honest, I tried to escape you  
But the orchestra plays on_

"He didn't have to leave a mark."

"What?

"Castiel," Sam answered, "He didn't have to leave that mark on your shoulder."

"I don't think-" Dean tries to defend an angel, something he thought he'd never have to do.

"No," Sam shakes his head, "All I've read says that when they save people, like he saved you, that they don't leave a mark."

_Hands, like secrets, are the hardest thing to keep from you  
Lines and phrases, like knives, your words can cut me through_

Dean glances away, hating that Sam has suckered him in to a chick flick moment when he can't escape.

Unless jumping out of a fast moving car was a good means of escaping.

"Yeah well, maybe this was different," Dean finally mumbles, turning his gaze towards the road ahead.

Sam huffs, and for a second, Dean is reminded of a seven year old Sam. And Dean knows that Sam won't let this one go.

"No," Sam argues, "Admit it Dean. You hate the mark. I've notice you Dean. You don't go out as much, you don't take your shirt off if you don't have to and when we go out, if any girl that's coming on to you so much as puts her hand anywhere near it, you freak and if I didn't know you, I would thik you had a bladder control problem."

"Sam your-" Dean tries to say but Sam is on a rampage.

"No Dean. I'm not exaggerating. You flinched Dean. _Flinched_, when I grabbed you there today," Sam's brown eyes search for contact with Dean's green ones, "I felt it and I know Bobby saw it. You can't say the mark doesn't bother you."

_It's not that I hang on every word  
I hang myself on what you repeat_

"It wasn't Castiel's fault Sam," Dean says, quiet, wishing that he could just pull over, wishing that they weren't talking about _this._

"Yeah," Sam says sarcastically, "Because he just wanted to give you a parting gift for the rest of your life."

Dean doesn't say anything to that, won't say anything to that.

Dean's right when he says it wasn't Castiel's fault that he has the mark. And Sam was right too- angels don't leave marks when they rescue you or as Castiel put it "raised him from perdition."

He remembers the screaming, the pain, and the burning.

Then he remembers Castiel's gentle grip on his hand, comforting and chasing away the pain immediately.

_It's not that I keep hanging on  
_

No, Dean wants to say, it wasn't his or Castiel's fault.

Because the burn on his shoulder, the mark that will never go away, always hurts, in a way that no cut, bruise or break ever has, or ever will.

Bobby and Sam have always thought that Castiel had given it to him and Dean has said nothing to make them think any differently.

Dean rubs his wrist absently mindedly, remembering the angel's sure grip. Castiel had promised, whispered to Dean, that he wouldn't let go.

_I'm never letting go._

Dean brings his thoughts once again back to the present, wishing that the pain in his shoulder would just go away, if only for a little while.

Because he would never tell Sam the truth about the hand that had left this mark on Dean.

Because it hadn't been the hand that had taken Dean out of hell that had left it.

_Dismantle Me Down,_

It had been the hand that had tried to keep him in.

_Repair You._


End file.
